


Windbreaker

by beansprean



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Gen, The Empty Hearse, but im gonna put it here cuz i like it, s3 predictions, this was in reply to an ask on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:16:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beansprean/pseuds/beansprean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was going to open the door and the apparition would be gone. Then he would get a cab back to Mary’s, tell her that he had hand-delivered Mrs. Hudson’s wedding invitation as asked, and they could spend a quiet night in front of the telly where he wouldn’t have to think once about a friend - an ex-flatmate, really - three years gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Windbreaker

He almost didn’t recognize him without the coat. Dark curls hung limply over a wan face with pale eyes and sharp cheekbones, but the battered windbreaker and too-loose jeans were so far from John’s memories of his friend that the first thing he did was slam the door in his face.

John stared at the door - wood, black, thankfully solid against his hands as his knees threatened to crumple - for a solid minute, breathing slowly and deeply like he would after a nightmare.

 _Impossible._ He reached for the knob again with shaky hands, the sweat on his palm slipping against the brass twice before he managed to grip it. John was going to open the door and the apparition would be gone. Then he would get a cab back to Mary’s, tell her that he had hand-delivered Mrs. Hudson’s wedding invitation as asked, and they could spend a quiet night in front of the telly where he wouldn’t have to think once about a friend - an ex-flatmate, really - three years gone.

John opened the door. The man on the other side turned his head back around, eyes wide with nervous energy. Pale eyes, grey with exhaustion and ringed with dark circles. John shook and stared, throat working against nothing.

"John."

_Fuck._

John’s knees gave out. The door frame held his wobbling legs up for only a moment before he slid down to the floor.  Blood was rushing through his ears. He was vaguely aware of a voice, and large hands on his arms. A distant memory dredged up the scent of chlorine and John gagged on it.

_"Are you alright?"_

_Christ._

"Are you alright? John?"

John blinked away the spots clouding his vision, discovering himself on his knees at the threshold of 221b, the man in the windbreaker kneeling just on the other side with his hands on John’s shoulders.

"Sherlock," John breathed, the name stale on his tongue. The man -  _Sherlock, Christ -_ might have smiled. John swayed and leaned into him, arms limp, and just  _shook._  “You bastard.”

Sherlock was trembling too, whether from cold or exhaustion or sick fear, as he brought a hand up to cradle the back of John’s skull. The words came as a low rumble behind his ear. “I’m sorry.”

There was a pulse in Sherlock’s neck and John concentrated on that. It beat steadily,  _alive, alive, alive._ John breathed alongside it and let himself be held.

"I missed you, John."

**Author's Note:**

> [Talk to me on tumblr!](http://www.cuddleslutdean.tumblr.com)


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